


Anatomically Correct

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Minor Character Death, Points of View, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-05
Updated: 2006-02-05
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: When Joan Kinney died, you had been in New York for 8 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days, and you didnâ€™t find out until almost a year later.





	Anatomically Correct

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: I, once again, do not know why I am writing, because I normally don't. This hasn't been read, by anybody. And I am a musically obsessed freak, so there are lyrics, lotsa lyrics.  
  
If there are mistakes, tell me... as well as suggestions.  
If it is a piece of shit, tell me that too, because I really have no idea what I am doing, or why.  
  
Also note: the title comes from the second set of lyrics in the story, which actually explains them. In a metaphoric kind of way, something which I didn't really bother to try to mesh more into the story, but completely works anyway (in my mind at least).  


* * *

_I think I'll move down into Memphis  
And thank the hatchet man who forked my tongue_

 

When Joan Kinney died, you had been in New York for 8 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days, and you didn’t find out until almost a year later.

You had known something was off that weekend, though, you just hadn’t pushed it. You figured if it was something about you, you would clue in eventually. And if it wasn’t about you, then you would hear about from somebody else. Brian just doesn’t talk, and if you pushed him to, he just wouldn’t talk about it more. Brian has never followed the rules.

 

_Please remember your heart in me_  
Please remember it's not anatomically correct  
Please know there's no boundary 

 

But, the night she died you woke up to find Brian leaning against the doorframe and chewing on his thumbnail, just watching you. He was a day early, but then he had done that before… just gotten in the car after Babylon and driven up, arriving in the grayish-blue light of early morning. But something was _off_ , and you knew it. You knew it by the way he was standing there, or maybe the way he was looking at you. You knew. And you handled it the only way you knew how, really, the only way Brian knew how, by letting him use your body to let it out.

You had blinked up at him, barely able to see his features in the dull gray light, and he pushed off the doorframe and crawled over you before kissing you so sweetly, stroking the side of your face and smoothing back your hair. Then, almost violently, he grabbed your head and kissed you hard while yanking the covers off of you and unbuttoning his jeans. Then he flipped you over and slid into you quickly, fiercely, painfully. He ground his forehead into the base of your neck, right into the spine, and just fucked you. 

Afterwards, after his trembling had slowed to a slight shudder, the bruising grip that he had on your hips had loosened, and you had caught your breath a little, you took control, flipping him over and straddling him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you undressed him. Then he was sliding in you again, but this time you were on your back and he was holding you so tightly that you couldn’t move. So you just kissed the side of his face, the only thing that you could reach, and mumbled over and over again. _Miss you, love you._

 

_Oh, I dream a highway back to you, love._

 

He didn’t say anything, but the next morning you woke up to him gently kissing the bruises he had left on your hips, to his eyes studying them intently. But, you didn’t expect him to say anything.

 

_It's all that they've been waiting for_  
Someone to knock at the door  
I tell you there are some people living alone  
There are some people with nowhere to go  
There are some people who don't believe in love 

*****

_I'm an indisguisable shade of twilight_  
Any second now I'm gonna turn myself on  
In the blue display of the cool cathode ray  
I dream a highway back to you. 

 

When your mother died, you had been back in Pittsburgh for two years. She died suddenly, violently. And it had completely shattered you. 

Brian was just there. He watched you discreetly as you took out your devastation on canvases, sitting quietly in the corner of your studio, smoking and working. Always right there when it became too much, too overwhelming, and you broke down sobbing and wailing, beating at the wet canvas. He brought food to you, and took it away, mostly uneaten. At night he gently guided you upstairs and into the shower where he washed you and then put you to bed. As much as your mother’s death had destroyed you, you wondered what it was doing to Brian. 

 

_He is a very good man  
And he has been an even very good man to me_

 

At the funeral you saw Craig for the first time in years, and part of you wanted to attack him. But you couldn’t, you had no fight in you. Brian glared at him through most of the service, his body tense though his hands were gentle on your lower back, dipping under your suit jacket and rubbing small circles. When Brian threw his rose on your mother’s casket, you saw him say something, something that sounded like, _“I’ll take care of him. He'll be ok. I got him.”_ Then it was your turn, and Brian caught you when your knees buckled and carried you away to the car. There, he fucked you as your tears slid down your face.

 

_Step into the light, poor Lazarus._  
Don't lie alone behind the window shade.  
Let me see the mark death made. 

 

He was letting you use him the way you had always let him use you. Clothing literally ripped off, violent fucks on the studio floor that left him too sore to move, but not too sore to cover you with his body, shielding you, when you were done and sobbing uncontrollably. At night and in the early morning, he would trace your spine, guiding his hands and mouth over every bump and over the muscles in your back and stomach. Then he would fall asleep with his head resting on you, on your chest or back, as close to your heart as he could get.

 

_Which lover are you, Jack of Diamonds?  
Now you be Emmylou and I'll be Gram._

 

You remember thinking that you finally understood why Brian didn’t talk much, and you couldn’t remember being so grateful for anything in your life.

 

_I'm on the same side as you_  
I'm just a little bit behind  
And please don't bring me down  
Please don't let me go 

*****

_What will sustain us through the winter?_  
Where did last years lessons go?  
Walk me out into the rain and snow.  
I dream a highway back to you. 

 

When Debbie died, neither of you really spoke to each other for 2 months. It had been years, and you had settled into the house and into a routine. You had almost completely lost that baby-face and Brian had silver streaks in his hair. 

You held each other up at the funeral, both trembling. You would often wake up and find Brian studying you. You assumed he had been doing it most of the night, insomnia hitting him full force. You almost prayed that he would die first, because if he had to watch you all night to protect you when an old woman died, then you didn’t know what he would do if he had to deal with you not being there. But, then, you didn’t know how you would deal either. 

 

_With your love I have foothold_  
I can carry on  
But please don't let me worry you now  
Please don't let me worry you now  
There's nothing I am saying  
That could ever be made wrong  
I love you, love you so  
I love you so strong 

 

The half grunts, the moans and sighs, and the few words you shared during that time seemed to be the most precious, the most coveted memories you had of your life. When you were fucking and he choked out a half-sob in your ear, or when his voice low and hoarse mumbled words like _“God”_ or just _“Justin,”_ you knew then with more fervor than you ever had, that he loved you so much. Almost too much. Your blinding adoration and your absolute worship of him, your fierce love for him paled in comparison. That thought alone scared the shit out of you, but all you could do was stroke his hair, his face, his back, and whisper to him, _“I love you. God, I love you.”_

 

_There's another question answered from above_  
You're the kind of friend of mine I never had  
You're the kind of love I had that I never thought there was  
Saint, Saint, Saint, Saint Augustine  
Far, far, far away Georgie Coons 

 

Neither of you had ever been very normal, Brian most of all. But, you guessed that you had finally gotten it, his strange need to be silent and just generally quiet, and that maybe you were becoming more and more like him, not needing to say anything anymore. But, then he was always your hero, so you also guessed that you weren’t really all that surpised. You pictured living out your life with him in complete silence, save for a few gasps and sighs and mutterings every night. Then you imagined the ways where you could both die at the exact same time, so neither of you would have to suffer through the unbearable quietness of actually being alone.

 

_Oh, I dream a highway back to you, love._  
A winding ribbon with a band of gold.  
A silver vision come and rest my soul.  
I dream a highway back to you. 

*********

“I Dream a Highway” by Gillian Welch and “Willie Deadwilder” by Cat Power


End file.
